


Out of a Dream

by mskatej



Series: Five Hotels [2]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mskatej/pseuds/mskatej
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they’re forced to share a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to thatotherperv for the beta.

It’s been a month since the kid lost his grandmother. He’s still not right. 

Harvey’s doing his best to help him through it but he’s under no illusions — this is not his area of expertise. Getting high with him was a stroke of genius, but still only a temporary fix. Burying him in work...well, he’ll do that no matter what Mike’s going through, but it only serves to mask the pain, not heal it. He lets him take the lead on one of his most interesting cases; he takes him out for drinks after he wins in court. But nothing seems to help, not with any real permanence, and Harvey’s running out of ideas. 

“He just needs time,” Donna says. “Stop trying to fix him. It doesn’t work that way, Harvey.”

It’s not the answer Harvey’s looking for even though he knows she’s probably right. He wants Mike to be okay. He needs Mike to know he’s not alone. Harvey might not be family but he’s the closest thing Mike’s got now, and he’s not going to mess that up. 

Which is why when Jessica tells him she’s going to Boston to give a seminar at Harvard, and that Harvey and Louis are coming too as her guest speakers, Harvey insists on bringing Mike along. 

She refuses at first, because there isn’t a good reason for it, but Harvey talks her round. He tries to appeal to her compassionate side. “He needs this, Jessica. He needs to get out of New York for a while, away from all the...memories and...whatnot.” Not his most elegant rebuttal, but hey, this is new territory for Harvey.

She’s unimpressed. “Do I look like a grief counselor to you?”

“Fine,” Harvey says. “I’ll only go if he goes.”

Jessica’s glare could freeze hell. “Goddammit, this again?” She stalks out of his office, snapping at him as she leaves, “You’ve gone soft, Harvey. It doesn’t suit you.”

When Louis finds out that Mike is tagging along with Harvey, he insists on bringing Harold as well, and now all five of them are standing around in the foyer of the Revere Hotel in Boston while Jessica negotiates with the manager in an attempt to fix a “small problem” with the rooms. They only have three booked instead of five, and there are no other rooms available; whether this monumental fuck up was the fault of someone at Pearson Hardman or a staffer at the hotel is unclear; the only thing Harvey knows for sure is that he’d really like to punch something right about now. Mike and Harold are frantically calling around all the hotels in the area but apparently everywhere is fully booked. It’s a fucking disaster.

“You and Louis will have to bunk together,” Jessica says, not even attempting to hide her amusement. 

“Over my dead body,” Harvey says. Harvey does not share. Especially not with a revolting troll like Louis. “Mike, you’re with me.”

Mike’s apologetic wince to a terrified-looking Harold alerts Harvey to the consequences of his refusal to share with Louis, but he doesn’t have it in him to care.

~

“Oh, of course,” Harvey says, with a disbelieving nod, as he walks into the room.

One bed.

“Christ,” Mike says. “Poor Harold.”

Harvey looks around. As hotel rooms go it’s not actually that bad but not even a huge flat-screen television and a balcony with a city view can please him at this point. 

“And before you get any ideas, I’m not sleeping on the floor.” Mike sits on the edge of the bed and bounces up and down. “Firm,” he informs Harvey, as if this is a genuine selling point.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Oh cheer up,” Mike says. “At least I’m not Louis.”

Harvey wrinkles his nose and glares at Mike, which for some reason Mike seems to enjoy. It’s not easy getting a real smile out of him these days so the sight of it goes some way towards appeasing Harvey. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head and huffs out a reluctant laugh. “You better not snore.”

They go their separate ways that evening — Harvey and Louis accompany Jessica to a dinner with a few of her Boston lawyer friends; Mike and Harold go off to do their own thing — and meet back in the room coming up for midnight. 

Mike’s already in bed when Harvey arrives. “Hey,” he mumbles in greeting, but by the time Harvey gets into bed next to him Mike is fast asleep.

Gazing down at the inert form of his bedfellow, Harvey can’t quite get his head around what’s happening. Any of it. Every disruptive, Mike-related part of his life threatens the stability of Harvey’s comfortable existence. That it’s all his own fault is not lost on him; Harvey’s not about to deny his role as puppet master of his own destiny, but that doesn’t mean things aren’t slipping out of his control. 

Was he ever in control? 

Mike looks so young right now — body curled into the fetal position, facing Harvey, burrowed deep in the big, white pillow. Eyes shut and mouth open... So goddamn young. It’d be easy to reach out and stroke his cheek; easy because it’s what Harvey wants to do, and Mike is asleep and wouldn’t even know about it. He clenches his fist instead, inwardly cursing the fresh rush of affection and concern that he never gave himself permission to feel. What the hell is going on with him? Loyalty is one thing, and it’s important, but this? This isn’t okay. It shouldn’t hurt Harvey to see Mike in pain. 

He slips down the bed until he’s flat on his back and closes his eyes...

It’s the touch that wakes him. He’s being touched. There’s a body against him, a weight across his chest — someone’s arm. An arm, a hand. What...

...the fuck. 

Mike?

Harvey blinks open his eyes to darkness. Mike’s clutching him, moving against him, and whimpering. 

Sleep is but a distant memory.

It’s soon clear that Mike is not awake, but it’s unclear what kind of dream he’s having. The little moans suggest he could be in a scary or disturbing place, so Harvey puts an arm around him and gives him a gentle squeeze, whispers, “It’s okay, Mike. You’re okay. Wake up.” 

But it doesn’t wake him, he’s still moving around, still whimpering — is he having a nightmare? — and Harvey raises his voice to a murmur. “Come on, Mike. Wake up.”

That’s when things get interesting. Because Mike’s hand is fisted in Harvey’s t-shirt and he’s pulling at it, exposing Harvey’s stomach, eyes squeezed shut and body moving. Body warm and needy, getting even closer to Harvey, he’s practically writhing, and—

Oh shit...

That’s...

Mike is hard. 

Mike is hard and he’s asleep and he’s clinging on to Harvey and rubbing his hard, his _very_ hard cock, against Harvey’s thigh. Whimpering, writhing, oh Jesus fuck he’s basically _fucking_ Harvey’s thigh. The whimpers are turning into desperate little moans.

“Mike,” Harvey whispers, trying and failing to suppress his own body’s response to this turn of events. “Mike, wake up. You need to calm down.” 

Why isn’t he pushing Mike away? Why isn’t he talking louder? “You need to calm down, Mike,” he whispers again, squeezing his arm again, holding him close.

Jesus, Harvey, push him away. Shove him away. Wake him up. Get the fuck out of bed. Go sleep in the arm chair. Push him away push him away push him away.

“Mike,” he whispers, threading his fingers through Mike’s hair. “Wake up, Mike. You need to wake up. You need to calm down.” Oh fuck, does he even mean what he says? His brain is telling him to be ashamed of himself, to do the right thing, to put a stop to what’s happening immediately. 

But his body...

“Mike, come on...Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike.” 

The rough grasp of Mike’s hands on Harvey’s torso, the continuous, throaty moans, the erratic thrust of his hips...in the midst of it all Mike opens his eyes. The shift seems sudden: from tormented slumber to...present and awake. And he’s looking up at Harvey, right into Harvey’s eyes, as Harvey continues whispering to him, “Calm down, Mike, you need to calm down.” He looks confused, he throws his head back, blinking, hips still moving... then he stares at Harvey again, with a look in his eyes so helpless and vulnerable— “It’s okay, you’re okay—”

“I can’t— what— oh God—” Still clinging to Harvey, clawing at his skin, he slows down but doesn’t stop moving, more rhythmic now. “Harvey,” he says. “What the hell am I doing?”

“You were dreaming,” Harvey says, but the explanation doesn’t make Mike retreat, or stop moving. “Just…calm down, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike says, burying his face in Harvey’s chest, his cock still sliding against Harvey’s thigh. “Oh fuck, I really wanna come.”

Jesus. And Harvey really wants to let him carry on until he comes, but he can’t. He really, really can’t. He strokes Mike’s hair. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh fuck,” Mike breathes out, looking up at Harvey with eyes half closed; he looks stoned, drunk, barely awake. “Harvey.” The tip of Mike’s cock, poking out through the fly of his boxer shorts, has left a wet trail all over Harvey outer thigh. And Mike’s still, slowly, moving his hips. He’s not stopping. Even though Harvey told him he needs to stop, he needs to calm down, he’s not doing either, and it’s impossible to make him. “Oh God sorry. I’ll stop, I’ll stop…just give me a minute…” 

“Okay,” Harvey says. Because he’s too turned on to do what he should.

Mike moans and climbs up on his knees, hands on Harvey’s chest, stiff cock poking out of his shorts, and Harvey can tell he’s on the verge of straddling him but he won’t do it without permission, no matter how whacked out he is on dream-induced arousal.

“Go ahead,” Harvey murmurs. 

Mike sighs with relief and throws one leg over Harvey’s body, kneeling astride Harvey’s stomach and shoving his boxers down below his groin. He lowers himself and starts to grind.

“Not on my clothes, okay?” Harvey says, his voice wavering. “Come on my skin.” He whips off his t-shirt and rests his hands on Mike’s thighs. 

Christ, the way Mike looks… He can let this happen, it’s not the end of the world. It’s not like he’s participating, the fact of which should get him a goddamn medal. It’s torture not being able to move his own hips, or reach between their bodies and take Mike’s cock in his hand; to grab him by the neck and pull him down into a kiss; to push him down on his own cock just to get some relief. But he can’t. He won’t. Even allowing this much to happen is wrong because Mike is, arguably, non compos mentis right now. He was asleep a minute ago, now he’s riding Harvey’s stomach like he’s at a goddamn rodeo, the kid is totally out of it, and no matter how good Mike looks and feels right now, Harvey won’t let himself take advantage. 

(Any more than he already has.)

Mike’s thrusts get wilder, his breath shorter, louder, and he’s holding on to Harvey’s shoulders with a grip so tight it’s almost painful. And when he comes he screws his face up and his entire body tenses; frozen mid thrust, except for the stutter in his hips and the hot jets of semen spurting out of his cock and landing on Harvey’s torso in thick white stripes. 

He looms over Harvey, panting, his eyes shut, and then he slumps, chest to chest, Mike’s t-shirt catching the brunt of the mess.

What can Harvey do but hold him? He wraps his arms around Mike and strokes his back through the damp cotton of his t-shirt, listening to the slackening pace of his breathing. But just before it sounds like Mike is asleep again, he slides off Harvey and slots himself into position beside him, arms crossed over his chest like a corpse, the front of his body flush against Harvey’s side.

And then he’s sleeping again, with the peace of a sated mourner, still and quiet.

Harvey lies there staring at the ceiling, dick throbbing and guilt complex firmly in place. 

~

The next morning’s awkwardness is a fresh kind of hell but Harvey hides his mortification behind a mask of unruffled indifference. Not that Mike notices; as they go about getting ready — showering, getting dressed, brushing teeth, the morning news playing on the TV to offset the uncomfortable silence — Mike keeps his gaze averted. Their only exchanges of dialogue relate to practical considerations of the day — “What time are we meeting the others for breakfast?” “Eight o’clock” etc.— and Mike manages to avoid eye contact until right before they leave the room. Just as Harvey is opening the door, Mike mumbles from behind him, “Sorry about last night.”

Harvey spins around, his throat tightening. Christ, Mike is _embarrassed_ , and that’s... well, it’s better than angry or betrayed or traumatized, sure, but it’s still unacceptable. He clamps a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, waiting until Mike looks him in the eye. “You have nothing to apologize for, you got it?” He considers following that up with, ‘if anything, I should be apologizing to you’ but he stops himself — he doesn’t actually want Mike thinking about all the ways in which Harvey is in the wrong here. 

And there’s something comforting about Mike’s visage of sheepish humiliation. Harvey can work with that. 

“We’re okay,” he says, giving Mike’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and smiling at him, until Mike smiles back, shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

“Really?” he asks, as though he can’t quite believe Harvey is going to let him get away with what happened. “I am _mortified_.”

“Don’t be. I’m serious, Mike. It’s okay.”

Mike stares at him a while, then nods.

They leave the room.

~

For the first half of the day Mike takes pains to keep his distance from Harvey, despite them being in the vicinity of one another pretty much constantly. After breakfast the group heads to the college — they jump in a shuttle, but Mike sits with Louis and Harold, Harvey with Jessica. They attend a morning tea with students and faculty, and then a seminar on ethics led by a respected Bostonian judge; after that they mill around as the lecture theater is set up for Jessica’s talk...but whenever Harvey checks to see what Mike’s up to — a frequent occurrence — he’s busy, usually talking to someone else, doing anything other than checking in with Harvey. Except on one occasion, when Harvey catches Mike looking in his direction, his jaw clenched and face flushed. But his eyes are fixed on Harvey’s chest rather than his eyes. 

Mike’s reticence makes things both easier and harder — Harvey needs to not be obsessing over what happened, he doesn’t have time to reflect on why he allowed things to go as far as they did, today he needs to be Harvey Specter: Super Lawyer and New York’s Best Closer; he cannot be Harvey Specter: Irresponsible Boss with Zero Impulse Control. He can’t let his thoughts linger on how...good it had felt. An absence of connection in the cold light of day is better; it’s easier. 

But it’s hard too, and not just because Harvey is so far out of his depth he’s running out of breath. It’s hard because now Mike’s alone in a whole new way. How can he rely on a person he can’t bear to look at? A person who let him cross a line that should never have been crossed? How can Harvey be the family Mike needs after what happened? How can they sleep in the same bed again tonight?

Difficult as it is, Harvey treats Mike as though nothing has changed. Today is all about Jessica and Pearson Hardman, there’s no option for either of them allowing personal shit to filter through and fuck things up. And after a time, Mike’s comfort levels visibly rise — by the afternoon he’s able to meet Harvey’s eyes with an apprehensive smile, and Harvey’s returning grin has the effect of making Mike’s face light up with pleased relief. 

The best part of the day is right after the seminar — although Harvey can’t deny that being on stage is a major highlight too, knowing that Mike is in the audience watching him; he seeks Mike out every time he tells a joke and is met with his rapt, laughing face — when Mike bounds up to him, grinning wide: “Oh man, you were awesome. You all were,” he says. “Everyone in this room is going to want to work at Pearson Hardman when they graduate.”

Their woes forgotten, Mike seems genuinely happy, and Harvey feels something approaching giddy. It’s not the end of the world after all, normality has reasserted itself, Mike and Harvey’s relationship has survived their indiscretion intact. 

The five of them go out for dinner that night, and it’s a surprising amount of fun. Louis, on a high from his well received presentation, is on good form; he and Harvey spar a little over dinner, but it’s all for the benefit of their audience rather than for any lingering feelings of animosity between them, and it makes Jessica laugh which is the result he’s certain Louis was going for too. Since making senior partner Louis has become a lot more bearable: he’s still an insufferable douche at times, because the earth still spins on its axis, but his visible happiness at finally getting what he’s worked so hard for is very nearly charming. And tonight’s an occasion for celebration — the seminar was a hit, and it’s their last night in Boston — which means that even Louis is willing to forget the past for a while and enjoy himself.

Mike’s spirits are high at first, but by the time their dessert plates are being taken away he’s more subdued; he’s distracted, no longer even attempting to focus on the conversation, checking his watch every few minutes, not contributing, fidgeting. At ten thirty or so he stands up and says to the table, “Sorry guys, I’m beat. I’m gonna head back to the hotel.”

It’s an effort to keep the worry out of his expression, as Harvey replies, casual as anything, “See you soon, I’ll be right behind you.”

Mike looks him in the eye and nods. “Good,” he says, before turning and walking away. And Harvey has absolutely no idea how to interpret _that._

With Mike gone, Harvey’s itching to get away too, so he tapers off his own contributions, waits ten minutes or so and then suggests they call it a night and hit the road. It’s a mild evening and they’re only fifteen minutes walk away from the hotel. Jessica and Louis agree; Harold, too overwhelmed by the company he’s found himself in to actually speak, simply leaps out of his chair in solidarity, and soon they’re out in the cool night air, wandering the streets of Boston. Harvey and Louis bicker over which female professor was the most attractive today, only for Jessica to side with Louis, much to Harvey’s outrage and Louis’s ill-disguised glee. 

~

Harvey enters the room in a state of trepidation — will Mike be asleep? Or will he be waiting up? And if he is still awake what the fuck are they going to talk about?

He is awake. He’s awake and sitting up in bed, unsmiling but looking straight at Harvey as he nears the bed. He’s not wearing a t-shirt. Whether he’s wearing underwear is unclear. His hair looks damp.

“Hi,” Mike says in a quiet voice.

“Hi,” Harvey replies. “You okay?”

Nod.

“You shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Good idea, I’m gonna do the same.” Because he’s not quite ready to face whatever it is that’s happening. He hangs up his suit jacket, and pants, stripping down to his boxers and undershirt, and then heads into the bathroom. 

There’s nothing like a hot shower after a long, draining day, and Harvey stands under the spray for a long time, trying not to think about what Mike is doing out there, in the bed they’re sharing; why he’s naked, what he wants, what he expects... He keeps his mind as blank as possible, washes every inch of his body with his shower gel — did Mike use some too? Mike has a tendency to help himself to Harvey’s things, and the thought of him using something of Harvey’s all over his body raises a helpless smile — washes the product out of his hair, conditions...once he’s out he performs his usual post-shower ritual, that involves deodorant, moisturizer, night cream, brushing and flossing his teeth, mouthwash, a comb through his hair. And then he wraps a towel around his waist and exits the bathroom.

Mike hasn’t moved.

He’s still sitting up in bed, still not smiling, still following Harvey’s movements with serious eyes. Harvey holds his gaze for a few moments and then walks over to his suitcase, ruffles around in it until he finds a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Something stops him from putting them on...something in Mike’s demeanor. He picks up the t-shirt and turns around.

“Should I wear this?” he says.

Without hesitation, Mike shakes his head. “No.”

Harvey runs a hand over the lower half of his face, and nods. He tosses the t-shirt back into his case, picks up the boxers. “What about these?”

Mike shakes his head. The sober expression on his face is unsettling, and should probably be warning enough for Harvey to put a stop right now to whatever Mike has in mind, but then...if this helps him, if turning to Harvey for comfort will stop him feeling so wretched, even for a little while, how can Harvey say no? 

So he unfastens his towel and hangs it over the back of the chair, and when he turns around he sees that Mike’s gaze has slid south. He stands still for a few moments so Mike can look at him — he’s not hard, but he’s not completely soft either — and then walks slowly to his side of the bed, gets in and pulls the covers up to his waist.

The moment he lies down, Mike crawls over to him and climbs astride his stomach. He’s naked and he’s hard — for how long, Harvey can only surmise, but he has the strong impression that Mike has been nursing his erection for quite some time, waiting for Harvey. Without any preamble he takes hold of Harvey’s shoulders and starts thrusting against his stomach; just like he had in the middle of last night, only this time he’s definitely of sound mind; this time it’s premeditated.

But what led to this decision? At what point did Mike go from feeling mortified, to getting over it, to planning on doing it again? Is that what happened at dinner, when he went quiet? Did he realize then that this was what he wanted?

Harvey hasn’t moved yet, he just lies there and stares up at Mike’s face, drowsy with pleasure as he fucks himself against Harvey’s bare skin. It feels nice, and it looks good, although Harvey’s cock is now hard and it takes a concerted effort not to push Mike down on it, or reach around Mike’s body and grab it, or move his hips. The only concession he allows himself is to run his hands up and down Mike’s thighs.

Mike’s moans are increasing in volume, his grip on Harvey is tightening, and then he lowers himself until his forehead touches Harvey’s, and in a voice strained with anguished arousal he asks, “Why are you letting me do this?”

The answer to that question is way too complicated, and Harvey’s search for the right words takes several seconds. 

“Because you need it.”

He can feel Mike’s nod against his forehead, hot, damp breath against his face, the non-stop movement of his hips punctuated by those little whimpers Harvey’s becoming so fond of. And then, “Do you like it?”

Harvey shuts his eyes. God he needs some friction. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“You like me getting off on you,” Mike whispers back. “Using you.” He’s panting hard. “Does it turn you on?”

Harvey exhales a fast puff of air and clenches the muscles in his groin.

“See for yourself.”

Mike lifts up on his knees and edges back, and then stares down between their bodies at Harvey’s erection, and under Mike’s riveted gaze Harvey begins circling his hips.

“You’re big,” Mike whispers.

Harvey smiles. “I know.”

“Are you gonna come tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

Mike looks into Harvey’s eyes, stares a while, and then gives him a small nod. He falls forward again and kisses Harvey’s open mouth, tongue plunging inside.

Harvey wants to tell Mike to touch him. Suck him. He wants to flip Mike onto his stomach, push his dick into Mike’s ass, and fuck him all night. No doubt that’d take his mind of his grief. Why the fuck didn’t Harvey buy any lube today? He’d thought about it and then he’d told himself off for thinking about it.

What a fool he was. Because now they’re here and Mike is his for the taking, he’d let Harvey do anything right now and Harvey _wants_...oh how he wants. “Rub your cock against my cock,” he murmurs, guiding Mike into position, groaning at the sensation of Mike sliding against him. “Yeah.”

“Harvey,” Mike breathes out. “Harvey, this is so bad but it feels so fucking good.”

“Looks good too,” Harvey says, captivated by the sight of their cocks sliding together, both rock hard, cockheads swollen and dark with blood. 

Mike follows his gaze and nods in enthusiastic agreement. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, we look amazing. I could come doing this.”

“Me too.” Harvey says. “Is it what you want?” Not that he’d complain if Mike wants to come like this, but if Mike wanted more, if he wanted Harvey inside him, for instance, that could be arranged too.

“Yeah,” Mike whispers, sliding back and forth, his thrusts long and slow, his breathing shallow.

“You sure?” Harvey asks. “You sure you don’t want me inside you?”

Mike cries out. “Oh fuck.” His thrusts get faster, more urgent. “Oh God, Harvey, keep talking.”

“You want me in your ass, I know you do. You want my hard cock deep inside you, fucking you all night. I can tell that’s what you need—”

“Oh fuck oh fuck ohfuck—”

“I can do that for you, Mike, if you let me... I can fuck my cock into your ass... Whenever you want, for as long as you need it. I’d like that very much. Would you like that?”

Mike’s going wild above him, hips out of control, gasping out _yes yes yes_ —

“Tell me how much you need it—” Harvey grips Mike’s buttocks in his hands to help control his movements but also to feel every shift of muscle, the sweet clench and release, the increasing length and force of each purposeful thrust— 

Mike squeezes his eyes shut, and under his breath he says, “I need you inside me,” and then he stills, gasps, comes. All over Harvey’s cock and stomach and chest. Harvey drags a hand through it, reaches up and shoves two messy fingers into Mike’s mouth.

Just watching him fellate Harvey’s fingers is enough to push Harvey to the edge. He reaches between them with his free hand, grabs his cock and pumps his fist a few times, so excited his orgasm follows immediately, a fierce rush of pleasure rocketing through his body, splashing up on Mike’s torso.

They clean up in silence and then Mike lies down and curls his body around Harvey’s, clinging to him as though the closeness itself will protect him from any unwanted feelings (like remorse? Or maybe it’s simply sadness and loneliness Mike fears the most right now). Harvey holds him close. Traditionally he’s not much of a cuddler, but this is hardly a traditional situation. And it feels good and right to keep Mike as close to him as possible; they both need some protection from reality, and physical distance will only serve to remind them of the real world and the space that has to exist between them out there.

Tomorrow morning they return to New York. The last thing Harvey remembers thinking before he falls asleep is that he’ll miss sharing a bed with Mike.

~

They are in the exact same position when Harvey wakes up, several hours later. Mike is half on top of him, arm slung around Harvey’s waist, still fast asleep and drooling onto Harvey’s chest. Through the haze of semi-consciousness, Harvey slides his hand down Mike’s back and over his ass, caressing the soft, downy skin, before slipping the tips of his fingers into Mike’s crack and letting them rest there.

After a short while Mike stirs. “Morning,” he mumbles, wiping the drool from his mouth with his palm. He moans when Harvey presses a finger to his hole, not penetrating him, just alerting Mike to the possibility of it.

“Morning,” he says. He’d give his right arm to stay in bed all day and fuck. His morning wood combined with Mike’s responsive body — he’s humping Harvey’s thigh again already — is sending a clear message to his brain: find something, anything, that can be used as a lube substitute, and take Mike’s ass right now. 

Only it’s nearly eight and they have to be washed and packed and downstairs by eight thirty at the latest.

“Mike, much as I’d like to...we have to go,” he says. 

“Come on, Harvey, let’s just have one more orgasm together. It’s our last chance.”

The kid has a point.

“Okay, fine, let’s have a shower together, we can get off at the same time we’re getting clean.”

Mike laughs. “How very efficient of you.” He rolls away from Harvey and out of bed. Harvey immediately misses the bodily contact and follows without delay. Manhandling Mike into the shower, just so he can keep touching him. Making out with him under the spray until they’re both so turned on they can’t even speak. 

They come, they finish up, they pack, they go downstairs, and Mike seems to be in a better mood than he’s been in since...

Mission accomplished then?

Harvey wanted Mike to feel better, and now he does — joking and laughing with Harold, Louis and even Jessica on the drive to the airport, it’s like having the old Mike back.

In the queue at check-in, Jessica leans in. “What did you do, Harvey?” she asks, her eyes narrowed. “It’s like he found his light again.”

Harvey gives her his most innocent smile, which he knows she doesn’t trust one bit. “I told you he needed this. Now do you believe me?”

“You know what?” she says. “I don’t wanna know. For the love of God just be discreet, or I’ll fire you both.”

Damn this woman and her unparalleled acumen.

Harvey doesn’t respond. What can he say? ‘It won’t happen again’? That’s a promise he probably should make but it’s also one he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep.

~

As it turns out, Mike and Harvey don’t mention what happened in Boston to each other once after they arrive back in New York. They go back to work, they carry on as normal, things between them aren’t even awkward. Mike is doing well — he seems happier, and his work is exemplary. 

More than a week goes by and Harvey is about to write it off as a distressingly pleasurable anomaly when Mike turns up on his doorstep on Sunday night. 

“Hey,” he says, standing in the doorway. “You don’t have to invite me in, I just...I wanted to tell you how much Boston meant to me. All of it. I’ve been sleeping better. I _feel_ better. Less alone, you know?”

“Good,” Harvey says, nodding.

“It was really, um...” He gives Harvey a small, secretive smile. “...hot, too.”

Harvey returns the smile. “Yeah, it was.”

“So thanks. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“You couldn’t say that at work?”

Mike shakes his head, still smiling.

Let him go, Harvey. Just let him go. “Would you _like_ to come in?”

Mike’s smile widens. “I won’t lie. Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

Harvey stands aside.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming attractions:
> 
> ~ [The one where they play strip poker in a shitty hotel room.](http://mskatej.livejournal.com/391192.html?style=mine) (Read it on Livejournal!!)
> 
> ~ The one where they have adjoining hotel rooms and Harvey walks in on Mike while he’s masturbating.
> 
> ~ The one where a drunken Mike decides bugging a sleeping Harvey is a good idea and then Harvey gets handsy.
> 
> Previous attractions:
> 
> [The one with the horny masseuse who goes the extra mile.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/579405)


End file.
